* * * * *
"One day papa appeared in the kitchen, where we were, with an apparently indifferent air, snuffled about for a while among the pots and pans, and meanwhile kept on slashing at the long leggings of his water-boots with his riding-whip.
"'Why you have become a Paul Pry to-day, papa?' said I.
"He gave a short laugh and remarked, 'Yes, I have become a Paul Pry.' And when he had for some time longer been running backwards and forwards without speaking, he suddenly stopped in front of Martha and said--
"'If you should just have time, my child, you might come into the room for a moment. Mama and I have something to say to you.'
"'Ah, I see,' said I, 'that is the reason for this long preliminary. May I come too?'
"'No.' he replied. 'You remain in the kitchen.'
"Martha gave me a long look, took off her apron, and went with him to the sitting-room.
"For a while all remained quiet in there. Round about me the steam was hissing, the pots were broiling, and one of the maids was making a great clatter cleaning knives; but all this noise was suddenly penetrated by a short, piercing cry which could only proceed from Martha's lips.
"Trembling I listened, and at the same moment papa came rushing into the kitchen, calling for 'Water!' I hurried past him, and found my sister lying fainting on the ground with her head in mama's lap.
"'What have you been doing to Martha?' I cried, throwing myself on my knees beside her.
"No one answered me. Mama, as helpless as a child, was wringing her hands, and papa was chewing his moustache, to suppress his tears, as it seemed. Then, as I bent down over the poor creature, I saw a blue-speckled sheet of paper lying beside her on the floor, which I immediately, and unobserved by any one, appropriated.
"Thereupon I quickly did what was most pressing: I recalled my sister to consciousness, and led her, while she gazed about with vacant eyes, up to her room.
"There I laid her upon her bed. She stared up at the ceiling, and from time to time wanted to drink. Her spirit did not yet seem to have awakened again at all.
"I meanwhile secretly drew the letter from my pocket, and read what I here record verbally; for I have carefully preserved this monument of motherly and sisterly affection:--
"'My beloved Brother! Dearest Sister-in-Law!--A circumstance of a very painful nature compels me to write to you to-day. You are, I am sure, fully convinced how much I love you, and how much my heart longs to be in the closest possible relation to you and your children. All through my life I have only shown you kindness and affection, and received the same from you. Relying on this affection I to-day address a request to you, which is prompted by the anxiety of a mother's heart. To-day my son Robert came to us and declared that he intended asking you for your daughter Martha's hand; begging us at the same time to give our consent, with which, as a good son and also as a prudent man he cannot dispense, as unfortunately he still depends, to a great extent, on our assistance.
"'If I might have followed the bent of my heart, I would have fallen upon his neck with tears of joy; but, unhappily, I had to keep a clear head for my son and my husband--who are both children--and was forced to tell him that on no account could anything come of this.
"'My dear brother, I do not wish to reproach you in any way for not having been able to keep your affairs straight in the course of years--far be it from me to mix myself up in matters that do not concern me; but as these matters now stand, your estate is encumbered with debts, and, with the exception of--as I would fain believe--an ample 'trousseau,' your daughters would not have a farthing of dowry to expect. On the other hand, my son Robert's estate is also heavily embarrassed through the payments which he had to make to us and his sisters and brothers--as well as by the mortgages which we still hold upon it, and by the interests of which we and my other children have to live--so that marriage with a poor girl would simply mean ruin to him.
"'I do not take into account that your daughter Martha must--according to your letters--be a weakly and delicate creature, and therefore appears to me utterly unfit to take cheerfully upon herself the cares of this large household and to render my son Robert happy; the idea that she would come into his house with empty hands is in itself decisive for me, and suffices to convince me that she herself must become unhappy and make him so.
"'If your daughter Martha truly loves my son Robert, it will not prove hard for her to renounce all thoughts of a marriage with him in the interests of his welfare, provided, of course, he should still have the courage to propose to her in spite of his parents' opposition--although I do not expect such filial disobedience from him, and absolutely cannot imagine such a thing. I am convinced, my dear relations, that your brotherly and sisterly affection will prompt you to join with me in refusing your consent, now and for ever, to such a pernicious and unnatural union,
"'Yours, with sincere love,
"'Johanna Hellinger.
"'P.S.--How have your crops turned out? Winter rye with us is good, but the potatoes show much disease.'
* * * * *
"Rage at this mean and hypocritical piece of writing so possessed me, that loudly laughing, I crumpled the sheet of paper beneath my feet.
"My laughter probably hurt Martha, for it was her moaning which at length brought me back to my senses. There she lay now, helplessly smitten down, as if shattered by the blow which should have steeled her strength for enhanced resistance. And as I gazed down upon her, tortured by the consciousness of being condemned to look on idly, there once again broke forth from my soul that sigh of former times: 'Oh, that you were--she!' But what new meaning it concealed! What then had been folly and childishness, had now developed into seriousness of purpose, ready self-sacrifice, and consciousness of strength.
"I determined to act as long as ever there was time yet. First of all, I would go to my parents, tell them what I had done, and that for a long time already I had been initiated into everything--and finally demand of them to assign to me at length that position in the family council which, in spite of my youth, was due to me.
"But I rejected this idea again. As soon as I participated in the deliberations of my family, it became my duty not to act contrary to whatever they thought good, and only if I apparently took no heed of anything, could I be working for the salvation of my poor sister according to my own plans and my own judgment.
"I very soon saw how matters lay. Each one had read in the letter what most appealed to his nature.
"Papa, quite possessed by a poor man's pride, would, after this, have thought it a disgrace to let his child enter a family where she would be looked at disparagingly. Mama, for her part, had been touched by the interspersed professions of affection, and thought that her sister-in-law's confidence ought not to be abused.
"And my sister?
"That same night, as I kept watch at her bedside, I felt her place her hot hand upon mine and draw me gently towards her with her feeble arm.
"'I have something to say to you, Olga,' she whispered, still looking up at the ceiling with her sad eyes.
"'Had we not better leave it till to-morrow?' I suggested.
"'No,' she said, 'else meanwhile that will happen which must not happen. Henceforth all is over between him and me.'
"'You little know him,' said I.
"'But I know myself,' said she. 'I break it off.'
"'Martha!' I cried, horrified.
"'I know very well,' she said, 'that I shall die of it, but what does that matter? I am of very little account. It is better so, than that I should make him unhappy.'
"'You are talking in a fever, Martha,' I cried, 'for I do not think you silly enough to let yourself be baited by the trash of that old hag.'
"'I feel only too well that she speaks the truth,' said she. A cold shudder passed through me when I heard her pronounce these despairing and hopeless words as calmly and composedly as if they were a formula of the multiplication table. 'Do not gainsay me.' she continued; 'not only since to-day do I know this--I have always felt something of the kind, and ought by rights not to have been startled to-day; but it certainly does upset one, when one so unexpectedly sees in writing before one's eyes the death sentence which hitherto one has scarcely dared to suggest to one's own conscience.'
"As eloquently as I possibly could, I remonstrated with her. I consigned our aunt to the blackest depths of hell, and proved to a nicety that she (Martha) alone was born to become the good angel in Robert's house. But it was no good, her faith in herself would not be revived; the blow had fallen upon her too heavily. And finally she expected it of me to write no further letter to him, and to break off our intercourse once and for all. I was alarmed to the depths of my soul, no less for my own than for her sake. I refused, too, with all the energy of which I was capable; but she persisted in her determination, and as she even threatened to betray our correspondence to our parents, I was at length forced to comply, whether I would or no.
* * * * *
"Troubled days were in store. Martha slunk about the house like a ghost. Papa rode like wild through the woods, stayed away at meal-times, and had not a good word for any of us. Mama, our good, fat mama, sat knitting in her corner, and from time to time wiped the tears out of her eyes, while she looked round anxiously, lest any one should notice it. Yes, it was a sad time!
"Two urgent letters from Robert had arrived. He wrote that he was in great trouble, and I was to send him tidings forthwith. I told Martha nothing of them, but I kept my promise.
"A week had passed by, when I noticed that our parents were discussing what answer they would send to aunt. In order to exclude any suspicion of sneaking into a marriage, papa had the intention of binding himself by a final promise, and mama said 'yes,' as she said yes to everything that did not concern jellies and sweets.
"The same day Martha declared that she felt unfit to leave her bed--that she had no pain, but that her limbs would not carry her.
"Thus I saw misfortune gathering more and more darkly. I dared not hesitate any longer.
"'Come! Redeem your promise before it is too late.' These words I wrote to him. And to be quite sure, I myself ran down into the town, and handed the letter to the postillion who was just preparing to start for Prussia.
"At the moment when the envelope left my hands, I felt a pang at my heart as if I had thereby surrendered by soul to strange powers.
"Three times I was on the point of returning to ask my letter back, but when I did so in good earnest the postillion was already far away.
"When I climbed up the slope leading to the manor house I hid myself in the bushes and wept bitterly.
"From that hour an agitation possessed me, such as I had never before in my life experienced. I felt as if fever were burning in my limbs--at nights I ran about my room restlessly, all day long I was on the look-out, and every approaching carriage drove all the blood to my heart.
"I gave wrong answers to every question, and the very maids in the kitchen began to shake their heads doubtfully. A bride who is expecting her bridegroom could not behave more crazily.
"This state of things lasted for four days, and it was lucky for me that each member of the family was so engrossed with himself, else suspicion and cross-examination could not have been spared me.
"This time I did not receive him. When I recognised his figure in the strange, four-horse carriage which, all besplashed with mud, tore through the courtyard gate, I ran up to the attic and hid in the most remote corner.
"My face was aglow, my limbs trembled, and before my eyes fiery-red mists were dancing.
"Downstairs I heard doors banging, heard hurried steps lumber up and down the stairs, heard the servants' voices calling my name--I did not stir.
"And when all had become quiet, I stole cautiously down the back staircase, out into the park, in the wildest wilderness of which I crouched down. A peculiar feeling of bitterness and shame agitated me. I felt as if I must take to flight, only never again to have to face that pair of eyes for whose coming I yet had so longingly waited. And then I pictured to myself what, during these moments, was most probably taking place in the house. Papa was sure to have been somewhat helpless at sight of him, for he certainly still felt the effects of that wicked letter; he was sure also to have resisted a little when he heard him utter his proposal; but then Martha had appeared--how quickly she has found her strength again, poor ailing creature, who but a few moments ago lay tired to death on the sofa, how quickly she will have forgotten everything that the years have brought of sorrow and sadness--and now they will lie in each other's embrace and not remember me.
"And then suddenly a dark feeling of defiance awoke within me. 'Why do you hide away?' cried a voice. 'Have you not done your duty? Is not all this your work?'
"With a sudden jerk I raised myself up, smoothed back my tumbled hair from my forehead, and with firm tread and set lips I walked towards the house. No sound of rejoicing greeted my ears. All was quiet--quiet as the grave. In the dining-room I found mama alone. She had folded her hands and was heaving deep sighs, while great tears rolled down as far as her white double chin.
"'That is the result of her emotion.' thought I to myself, and sat down facing her.
"'Wherever have you been hiding, Olga?' she said, this time drying her eyes quite leisurely. 'You must have a few young fowls killed for supper, and set the good Moselle in a cold place. Cousin Robert has come.'
"'Ah, indeed,' said I, very calmly, 'where may he be?'
"'He is speaking to papa in his study.'
"'And where is Martha?' I asked, smiling.
"She gave me a disapproving look for my precociousness, and then said, 'She is in there, too.'
"'Then I suppose I can go at once and offer my congratulations; I remarked.
"'Saucy girl,' said she.
"But before I could carry out my purpose the door of the adjoining room opened and in walked slowly, as slowly as if he came from a sepulchre, Robert--Cousin Robert, with ashy pale face and great drops of perspiration on his brow. I felt how, at sight of him, all my blood, too, left my face. A presentiment of evil awoke within me.
"'Where is Martha?' I cried, hastening towards him.
"'I do not know.' He spoke as if every word choked him. He did not even shake hands.
"And then papa came too, after him.
"Mama had got up and all three stood there and silently shook hands like at a funeral.
"'Where is Martha?' I cried once more.
"'Go and look after her,' said papa, 'she will want you.'
"I rushed out, up the stairs to her room. It was locked.
"'Martha, open the door! It is I.'
"Nothing stirred.
"I begged, I implored, I promised to make everything right again. I lavished endearing epithets upon her--that, too, was in vain. Nothing was audible except from time to time a deep breath which sounded like a gasp from a half-throttled throat.
"Then rage seized me, that I should be everywhere repulsed.
"'I suppose I am just good enough to prepare the mourning repast.' I said, laughing out loud, ran to the maids and had six young chickens killed and even stood by calmly while the poor little creatures' blood squirted out of their necks.
"One of them, a young cockerel, quite desperately beat its wings and crowed for very terror of death, while it thrust its spurs at the maid's fingers.
"'Even a poor, weak animal like this resists when one tries to kill it,' I thought to myself, 'but my lady sister humbly kisses the hand that wields the knife against her.'
"The death of these innocent beings might almost be called gay in comparison with the meal for which they served. No condemned criminal's last meal could pass more dismally. Every five minutes some one suddenly began to talk, and then talked as if paid for it. The others nodded knowingly, but I could very well see: whoever heard did not know what he heard, whoever talked did not know what he was talking about.
"Martha had not put in an appearance. When we were about to separate, each one to go to his room, Robert seized both my hands and drew me into a corner.
"'My thanks to you, Olga,' he said, while his lips twitched, 'for having so faithfully taken my part. Now we will mark a long pause at the end of our letters.'
"'For heaven's sake, Robert,' I stammered, 'however did this come about?'
"He shrugged his shoulders. 'I suppose I kept her waiting too long,' he then said; 'she has grown tired of me.'
"I was about to cry out: 'That is not true--that is not true! 'but behind us stood my father and informed him that, according to his wish, the conveyance would be ready at daybreak.
"'Then I am not to see you any more?' I cried, alarmed.
"He shook his head. 'We had better bid each other good-bye now,' he said, and squeezed my hand.
"Within me a voice cried that he must not depart thus, that I must speak to him at any price. But I bravely suppressed the words that were nearly choking me. And so we once more shook hands and separated.
"I had several things to do yet in the house, and while I put out some coffee and weighed out flour and bacon for next morning's meal, the words were constantly in my ears: 'You must speak to him.'
"Then, as I went, with my candle in my hand, up to my room, I made a detour past his door, for I hoped I might perhaps meet him on the landing; but that was empty, and his door was closed. Only the sound of his heavy footsteps inside the room was audible throughout the house.
"In Martha's room it was as silent as death. I put my ear to the keyhole; nothing was audible. She might as well have been dead or flown.
"Terror seized me. I knelt down in front of the keyhole, begged and implored, and finally threatened to fetch our parents if she still persisted in giving no sign of life.
"Then at length she vouchsafed me an answer. I heard a voice: 'Spare me, child, just for to-day spare me!' And this voice sounded so strange that I hardly recognised it.
"I went on my way now, but my fear increased lest he might set forth with anger and disappointment in his heart, without a word of explanation, without ever having suspected the greatness of Martha's love.
"A very fever burnt within my brain, and every pulsation of my veins cried out to me: 'You must speak to him--you must speak to him!'
"I half undressed and threw myself on the sofa. The clock struck eleven--it struck half-past eleven. Still his footsteps resounded through the house. But the later it was, the more did it grow impossible for me to carry out my resolve.
"What if a servant should spy upon me--should see me stealing into our guest's room! My heart stood still at the thought.
"The clock struck twelve. I opened the window and looked out upon the world. Everything seemed asleep, even from Robert's and Martha's rooms no light shone forth. Both were burying their sorrow and anguish in the lap of darkness.
"With the night wind that beat against the casement, the words droned in my ears: 'You must--you must!' And like a soft sweet melody it coaxed and cajoled at intervals: 'Thus you will see him again--will feel his hand in yours--will hear his voice--perhaps even his laugh; do you not want to bring him happiness--the happiness of his life?'
"With a sudden impulse I shut the casement, wrapped myself in my dressing-gown, took my slippers in my hand and stole out into the dark corridor.
"Ah, how my heart beat, how my blood coursed through my temples! I staggered--I was obliged to support myself by the walls.
"Now I stood outside his door. Even yet his footsteps shook the boards. But the noise of his heavy tread had ceased. He had evidently divested himself of his boots.
"'You must not knock!' it struck me suddenly, 'that would not escape Martha.'
"My hand grasped the door-handle. I shuddered. I do not know how I opened the door. I felt as if some one else had done it for me.
"Before me the outline of his mighty figure----.
"A low cry from his lips--a bound towards me. Then I felt both my hands clutched--felt a hot wave of breath near my forehead.
"At the first moment the mad idea may have darted through his brain, that Martha had in such impetuous manner bethought herself of her old love--in the next he had already recognised me.
"'For Heaven's sake, child,' he cried, 'whatever has possessed you? What brings you to me? Has no one possibly seen you, say--has no one seen you?'
"I shook my head. He still evidently thinks you very stupid, I thought to myself, and drew a deep breath, for I felt the terrors of my venture were disappearing from my soul.
"He set me free and hastened to make a light. I groped my way to the sofa, and dropped down in a corner.
"The light of the candle flared up--it dazzled me. I turned towards the wall and covered my face. A feeling of weakness, a longing to cling to something, had come over me. I was so glad to be with him, that I forgot all else.
"'Olga, my dear, good child,' he urged, 'speak out, tell me what you want of me?'
"I looked up at him. I saw his swarthy, serious face, in which the day's trouble had graven deep furrows, and became lost in its contemplation.
"'What do you want? Do you bring me news of Martha?'
"'Yes, of course, Martha!' I pulled myself together. Away with this sentimental self-abandon! In my limbs I once more felt the firm strength of which I was so proud. 'Listen, Robert,' said I, 'you will not set out at daybreak already.'
'Why should I not do so?' said he, setting his lips.
"'Because I do not wish it!'
"'All due respect to your wishes, my dear child!' replied he, with a bitter laugh, 'but they alter nothing in my resolve.'
"'So you want to lose Martha for ever?'
"Now I felt myself once more so strong and joyous in myrôleof guardian, that I would have taken up fight with the whole world to bring these two together. Foolish, unsuspecting creature that I was!
"'Have I not already lost her?' he replied, and stared into vacancy.
"'What did she say to you to-day?'
"'Why should I repeat it? She spoke very wisely and very staidly, as one can only speak if one has ceased to love a person.'
"'And you really believe that?' I asked.
"'Must I not believe it? And after all, what does it signify? Even if she had retained a remnant of her affection for me, she did well to get rid of it thoroughly on this occasion; it is better thus, for her as well as for me. I have nothing to offer her; no happiness, no joy, not even some little paltry pleasure, nothing but work, and trouble, and anxiety--from year's end to year's end. And added to that, a mother-in-law who is hostile to her, who would make her feel it keenly, that she had come with empty hands.'
"I felt how my blood rushed to my face. I was ashamed, but not for Martha or myself--for I was of course just as poor as she; no, for him, that he should have to speak thus of his own mother.
"'And now say yourself, my girl,' he went on, 'is she not wiser, with such prospects before her, to remain in the shelter of her warm nest, and to send me about my business, as I could never give her anything but unhappiness?'
"He dishevelled his hair and ran about the room the while like a hunted animal.
"'Robert,' said I, 'you are deceiving yourself.'
"He stopped, looked at me and laughed out loud: 'What is it you want of me? Am I perhaps to demand a written confirmation of her refusal, before I betake myself off?'
"'Robert,' I continued, without allowing myself to be put out, 'tell me candidly whether you love her?'
"'Child,' he replied, 'should I be here if I did not love her?'
"With his huge arms outspread he stood before me. I felt as if I must be crushed between them if they closed around me--everything danced before my eyes--I squeezed myself further into my corner. And then there came into my thoughts what I had pictured to myself now and for years before; how I would love him if I were Martha, and how I should want him to love me in return.
"'See, Robert.' I said, 'taking me altogether, I am a foolish creature. But as regards love, I do know about that, not only through the poets; I have felt it in myself for a long time.'
"'Do you love some one then?' he asked.
"I blushed and shook my head.
"'How else can you feel it within you?' he went on.
"'It came as an inspiration from Heaven,' I replied, lowering my gaze to the ground, 'but I know I would not love like you two. I would not be downcast, I would not steal away as you are doing and say: "It is better so!" I would compel her with the ardour of my soul; I would conquer her with the strength of my arms; I would clasp her to my breast and carry her away with me, no matter whither! Out into the night, into the desert, if no sun would shine upon us, no house give us shelter. I would starve with her at the roadside, rather than give fair words to the world--the world that sought to separate me from her. Thus, Robert, I would act if I were you; and if I were she, I would laughingly throw myself upon your breast, and would say to you: "Come, I will go a-begging for you if you have no bread, my lap shall be your resting-place if you have no bed, your wounds I will heal with my tears--I will suffer a thousand deaths for your sake, and thank God that it is vouchsafed to me to do so." You see, Robert, that is how I imagine love, and not pasted together out of fear of mothers-in-law and unpaid interests.'
"I had talked myself into a passion. I felt how my cheeks were a-glow, and then suddenly shame overwhelmed me at the thought that I had thus laid bare to him my innermost being. I pressed my hands to my face, and struggled with my tears.
"When I dared to look up again, he was standing before me with glistening eyes and staring at me.
"'Child,' he said, 'where in all the world did you get that from? Why it sounded like the Song of Songs.'
"I set my teeth and was silent. I did not know myself how it had come to me.
"He then seated himself at my side and seized both my hands.
"'Olga.' he went on, 'what you just said was not exactly practical, but it was beautiful and true, and has stirred up the very depths of my soul. It seemed to me as if I were listening to a voice from some other world, and I am almost ashamed of having been faint-hearted and cowardly. But even if I braced myself up and thought as you do: what good would it all be, seeing that she no longer cares for me?'
"'She not care for you?' I cried, 'she will die of it, if you leave her, Robert!'
"'Olga!'
"I saw how a joyful doubt illumined his countenance, and I felt as if a strange hand were gripping at my throat; but I would not let myself be deterred from my purpose, and gathering together all my defiance, I continued: 'I know, Robert, that you will despise me when you have heard what I am about to tell you; but I must do it, so that you may understand that youcannotdepart. I have played a false game towards you, Robert, I have betrayed your confidence.'
"And with bated breath, gasping forth the words, I told him what I had done with his letters.
"I had not nearly finished when I suddenly felt myself seized in his arms and clasped to his breast.
"'Olga, and this is true?' he cried, quite beside himself with joy, 'can you swear to me that it is the truth?'
"I nodded affirmatively, for the tremor that ran deliciously through my veins had robbed me of speech.
"'God bless you for this, you wise, brave girl,' he cried, and pressed me so firmly to his breast that I could hardly draw my breath. I let my head drop upon his shoulder and closed my eyes. And then I started as I felt his lips upon mine. It seemed to me as if a flame had touched me. And again and again he kissed me, quite senseless with gratitude and happiness.
"I kept thinking: 'Oh, that this moment might never end!' And tremor upon tremor shook my frame; quite limp I hung in his arms. Only once the idea darted through my mind: 'May you return his kisses?' But I did not dare to do so.
"How long he held me thus I do not know, I only felt my head suddenly fall heavily against the sofa-ledge. Then the pain awakened me as from a deep, deep dream.
"I lay there motionless and gasped for breath. He noticed it and cried in alarm, 'You are growing quite pale, child; have you hurt yourself?'
"I nodded, and remarked that it was nothing, and would soon pass over. Ah! I knew too well that it would not pass over, that it would be graven in flaming letters upon my heart and upon my senses, that on many a long, cold, winter's night I should I find warmth in the glow of this moment, in this glow which was only the reflection of love for another.
"I knew all that, and felt as if I must succumb beneath the weight of this consciousness, but I braced myself up, for I had sufficiently learnt to keep myself under control.
"'Robert,' said I, 'I want to give you a piece of advice, and then let me go, for I am tired!'
"'Speak, speak!' he cried, 'I will blindly do whatever you wish.'
"Then, as I looked at him, it made me sigh with mingled pain and bliss, for the thought kept coming to me: 'He has held you in his arms.' I should have liked best of all to sink back once more with closed eyes into the sofa-corner, and simulate fainting a little longer, but I pulled myself together and said: 'I am pretty certain that Martha will not close her eyes to-night, but be on the watch to see you go. She will want to look after you; and as her room lies towards the garden she will either go into yours or the one adjoining. When you get downstairs wait a little while, and then do as if you had forgotten something, and then--and then----' I could not go on, for all too mighty within me was the sobbing and rejoicing: 'He has held you in his arms.'
"I feared that I should no longer be able to master my excitement--without a word of farewell I turned to take to flight precipitately. When I opened the door--Martha stood before me. She stood there, barefooted, half-dressed, as pale as death, and trembling. She was unable to stir; her strength probably failed her.
"And at the same moment I heard behind me a glad cry, saw him rush past me and clasp her tottering form in his arms.
"'Thank God, now I have you!' That was the last I heard; then I fled to my room as if pursued by furies, locked and bolted everything, and wept, wept bitterly.
* * * * *
"Over the days that now followed, with their crushing blows of fate, with their lingering sorrow, I will pass with rapid stride. In them I became matured: I became a woman.
"Eight months after that night papa was carried home on a waggon-rack. He had fallen from his horse and sustained grave internal injuries. Three days later he died. In the misery that now beset the household, I was the only one who kept a clear head. Martha broke down feebly, and mama--oh, our poor dear mama! She had been sitting for so many years comfortably and placidly in the chimney-corner, knitting stockings and chewing fruit-jujubes the while, that she would not and could not realise that it must be different now. She spoke not a single word, she hardly shed a tear, but internally the sore spread, and even had the brain fever, which attacked her four weeks later, spared her, her sorrow would still have broken her heart.
"There, now, those two lay in the churchyard, and we two orphans were left helpless in our desolate home, and waited for the time when we should be driven forth. I, for my part, knew which way my path lay, and knew that the future would have nothing to offer me but the hard bread of service; I did not despair and did not quarrel with my fate. I knew that I possessed sufficient strength and pride to hold my own even among strangers, but it was for Martha--who now less than ever could dispense with love and consolation--that I trembled.
"Her marriage still lay in the far distance; Robert must not let her wait much longer or she might easily waste away in her misery and one morning silently die out like a little lamp in which the oil is consumed.
"I was not deceived in him. To the funerals he had not been able to come; but his words of consolation had been there at all times, and had helped Martha over the most trying hours. For me, too, there was sometimes a crumb of comfort, and I eagerly seized upon it like one starving.
"One day he himself arrived. 'Now I have come to fetch you home,' he cried out to Martha. She sank upon his breast and there wept her fill. The happy creature! I meanwhile crept away into the darkest arbour, and wondered whether my heart would ever find a home prepared for it, where it might take refuge in hours of trouble or hours of happiness! I very well felt that these were idle dreams, for the only place in the world--in short, a feeling of defiance awoke within me, of bitterness so great, so galling to my whole nature, that I harshly and gloomily fled my dear ones' embrace, and grew cold and reserved in solitary sadness.
"I was to go with them, was to share the remnant of happiness that still remained for them, and to make a permanent home for myself at my brother-in-law's hearth; but coldly and obstinately I repudiated his offer.
"In vain both of them strove to solve the riddle of my behaviour, and Martha, who fretted because none of her happiness was to fall to my share, often came at nights to my bedside and wept upon my neck. Then I felt ashamed of my hard disposition, spoke to her caressingly as to a child, and did not allow her to leave me till a smile of hope broke through her trouble.
"For a week Robert worked hard in every direction to dispose of our belongings and find purchasers for them. Very little remained over for us; but then we did not require anything.
"Then, quite quietly, the wedding took place. I and the old head-inspector were the witnesses, and instead of a wedding breakfast we went out to the churchyard and bade farewell to the newly-made graves, whose yellow sand the ivy was beginning to cover scantily with thin trails.
"During the last weeks I had been looking out for a suitable situation. I had received several offers; I had only to choose. And when Robert, with grave and solemn looks, placed himself in front of me and solicitously asked, 'What is to become of you now, child?' with a calm smile I disclosed to him my plans for the future, so that he clapped his hands in admiration and cried 'Upon my word I envy you; you understand how to make your way.'
"And Martha too envied me, that I could see by the sad looks which she fastened on me and Robert. She herself wished that she might once more have all my unbroken, youthful strength to lay it upon his altar of sacrifice. I kissed her and told her to keep up her spirits, and her eyes with which she looked imploringly up at Robert said: 'I give you all that I am; forgive me that it is not more.'
"Next morning we set forth; the young couple to their new home--I to go among strangers.
* * * * *
"Of the next three years I will say nothing at all. What I suffered during that time in the way of mortification and humiliation is graven with indelible lines upon my soul; it has finally achieved the hardening of my disposition, and made me cold and suspicious towards every living human being. I have learnt to despise their hatred and still more their love. I have learnt to smile when anguish was tearing with iron grip at my soul. I have learnt to carry my head erect, when I could have hidden it in the dust for very shame.
"The leaden heaviness of dreary, loveless days, the terrible weight of darkness in sleepless nights, the loathsome dissonance of lascivious flattery, the endless, oppressive silence of strangers' jealousy--with all these I became familiar.
"It was indeed a hard crust of bread that I ate among strangers, and often enough I moistened it with my tears.
"The only comfort, the only pleasure that remained to me, were Martha's letters. She wrote often, at times even daily, and generally there was a postscript in Robert's scrawling, awkward handwriting. Oh, how I pounced upon it! How I devoured the words! Thus I lived through their whole life with them. It was not cheerful--no, indeed not! But still it was life! Often the waves of trouble closed over them; then both of them, strong Robert and weak Martha, were defenceless and helpless like two children, and I had to intervene and tender advice and encouragement.
"Finally, I had become so well acquainted with their household that I could have recognised the voice and face of each of their servants, of every one of their friends and acquaintances.
"Aunt Hellinger I hated with my most ardent hatred, the old physician I loved with my most ardent love, the insipid set of Philistines who had such a spiteful way of looking at everything, and so exactly reckoned out on their fingers the progress of decay on Robert's estate, I held in iciest contempt. 'Oh that I were in her place!' I often muttered between my set teeth, when Martha plaintively described the little trials of their social intercourse, 'how I would send them about their business, these cold, haughty shopkeepers! how they should crawl in the dust before me, subdued by my scorn and mockery!'
"But her little joys I also shared with her. I saw her ordering and disposing as mistress in and out of the house, saw the little band of willing servants around her, and wished I could have been still gentler and more helpful than she--this angel in human shape. I saw her seated on the sunny balcony, bending over her needlework. I saw her taking her afternoon rest under the great branches of the limes in the garden. I saw her, as she sat waiting for his appearance, dreamily gazing out upon the whirling snow-flakes, when, outside, his deep voice resounded across the courtyard, and inside, the coffee-machine was cosily humming.
"Thus I lived their life with them, while for me one lonely and joyless day joined on to the next like the iron links of an endless chain.
"It was in the third year that Martha confessed to me that Robert's ardent wish and her own silent prayer was to be fulfilled--that she was to become a mother. But at the same time her terror grew, lest her weak, frail body should not be equal to the trial which was in store for her. I hoped and feared with her, and perhaps more than she, for loneliness and distance distorted the visions of my imagination. Many a night I woke up bathed in tears; for in my dreams I had already seen her as a corpse before me. A memory of my earliest girlhood returned to me, when I had found her one day, rigid and pale, like one dead, upon the sofa.
"This vision did not leave me. The nearer the decisive term approached, the more was I consumed with anxiety. I began to suffer bodily from the misgivings of my brain, and the strangers among whom I dwelt--I will not mention them by name, for they are not worth naming in these pages--grew to be mere phantoms for me.
"Martha's last letters sounded proud and full of joyful hope. Her fear seemed to have disappeared; she already revelled in the delights of approaching maternity.
"Then followed three days in which I remained without news, three days of feverish anxiety, and then at length came a telegram from my brother-in-law--'Martha safely delivered of a boy, wants you. Come quickly.'
"With the telegram in my hand, I hastened to my mistress and asked for the necessary leave of absence. It was refused me. I, in wildly aroused fury, flung my notice to quit in her face, and demanded my freedom instantly.
"They tried to find excuses, said I could not be spared just then, that I must at least make up my accounts, and formally hand over my management; the long and the short of it was, that by means of despicable pretexts they delayed me for two days, as if to make the dependant, who had always behaved so proudly, feel once more to the full the degradation of her humble position.
"Then came a night full of dull stupefaction in the midst of the sense-confusing noise of a railway carriage, a morning of shivering expectation spent amidst trunks and hat-boxes in a dreary waiting-room, where the smell of beer turned one faint. Then a further six hours, jammed in between a commercial traveller and a Polish Jew, in the stuffy cushions of a postchaise, and at last--at last in the red glow of the clear autumn evening, the towers of the little town appeared in view, near the walls of which those dearest to me--the only dear ones I possessed in the world--had built their nest.
"The sun was setting when I alighted from the postchaise, between the wheels of which dead leaves were whirling about in little circles.
"With fast beating heart I looked about me. I thought I saw Robert's giant figure coming towards me; but only a few stray idlers were loafing around, and gaped at my strange apparition. I asked the conductor the way, and, relying for the rest upon Martha's description, I set forth alone on my search.
"In front of the low shop doors, groups were standing gossiping, and people out for a walk sauntered leisurely towards me. At my approach they stopped short, staring at me like at some wonderful bird; and when I had passed, low whispers and giggles sounded behind me. A horror seized me at this miserable Philistinism.
"Not until I saw the town gate with its towerlike walls rise up before me, did my mind grow easier. I knew it quite well. Martha in her letters was wont to call it the 'Gate of Hell,' for through it she had to pass when an invitation from her I mother-in-law summoned her into the town.
"As I walked through the dark vaulting, I suddenly saw on the other side of the archway, framed as it were in a black frame, the 'Manor' before my eyes.
"It lay hardly a thousand paces away from me. The white walls of the manor house gleamed across waving bushes, flooded by the purple rays of the setting sun. The zinc-covered roof glistened as if a cascade of foaming water were gliding down over it. From the windows flames seemed to be bursting, and a storm-cloud hung like a canopy of black curdling smoke over the coping.
"I pressed my hands to my heart; its beating almost took my breath, so deeply did the sight affect me. For a moment I had a feeling as if I must turn back there and then, and hasten away precipitately from this place, never stopping or staying till the distance gave me shelter. All my anxiety for Martha was swallowed up in this mysterious fear, which almost strangled me. I rebuked myself for being foolish and cowardly, and, gathering together all my strength, I proceeded along the country road in which half-dried-up puddles gleamed like mirrors in the cart-ruts. Through the crests of the poplars above me there passed a hoarse rustling, which accompanied me till I reached the courtyard gate. Just as I entered it, the last sunbeam disappeared behind the walls of the manor and the darkness of the mighty lime trees, which spread from the park across the path, so suddenly enveloped me that I thought night had come on.
"To the right and left tumble-down brickwork, overgrown with half-withered celandine, jutted out above ragged thorn-bushes--the remains of the old castle, upon the ruins of which the manor house had been erected. An atmosphere of death and decay seemed to lie over it all.
"I spied fearfully across the vast courtyard, which the dusk of evening was beginning to cloak in blue mists. At every sound I started; I felt as if Robert's mighty voice must shout a welcome to me. The courtyard was empty, the silence of the vesper hour rested upon it. Only from one of the stable-doors there came the peculiar hissing sound which the sharpening of a scythe produces. A scent of new-mown hay filled the air with its peculiarly sweet, pungent aroma.
"Slowly and timidly, like an intruder, I crept along the garden railings towards the manor house, that seemed to look down upon me grimly and forbiddingly, with its granite pillars and its weather-beaten turrets and gables. Here and there the stucco had crumbled away, and the blackish bricks of the wall appeared beneath it. It looked as if time, like a long illness, had covered this venerable body with scars. The front door stood ajar. A large dark hall opened before me, from which a peculiar odour of fresh chalk and damp fungi streamed towards me--through small coloured glass windows, placed like glowing nests close under the ceiling and all covered with cobwebs, a dim twilight penetrated this space, hardly sufficient to bring into light the immense cupboards ranged along the walls. A brighter gleam fell upon a broad flight of stairs worn hollow, the steps of which rested upon stone pilasters. High vaulted oaken doors led to the inner apartments, but I did not venture to approach one of them. They seemed to me like prison gates. I was still standing there, timidly trying to find my way, when the front door was torn open and through the wide aperture two great yellow-spotted hounds rushed upon me.
"I uttered a cry. The monsters jumped up at me, snuffed at my clothes, and then raced back to the door, barking and yelling.
"'Who is there?' cried a voice, whose deep-sounding modulations I had so often fancied I heard in waking and dreaming. The aperture was darkened. There he stood.
"Red mists seemed to roll before my eyes. I felt as if my feet were rooted to the ground. Breathing heavily, I leant against the stair column.
"'Who the deuce is there?' he cried once more, while he vainly tried to pierce the darkness with his eyes.
"I gathered up all my defiance. Calmly and proudly, as I had bid him farewell years before, would I meet him again to-day. What need for him to know how much I had suffered since then!
"'Olga--really--Olga--is it you?' The suppressed delight that penetrated through his words gave me a warm thrill of pleasure. I felt for a moment as if I must throw myself upon his breast and weep out my heart there, but I kept my composure.
"'Were you not expecting me?' I asked, mechanically stretching out my hand to him.
"Oh, yes--of course--we have been expecting you every hour for the last two days--that is, we began to think----"
"He had clasped my hand in both his, and was trying to look into my face. A peculiar mixture of cordiality and awkwardness lay in his manner. It seemed as if he were vainly trying to discover traces of his former good friend in me.
"'How is Martha?' I asked.
"'You will see for yourself.' he replied. 'I do not understand these things. To me she appears so weak and so fragile that I tell myself it will be a miracle if she survives it. But the doctor says she is getting on well, and I suppose he must know best.'
"'And the child?' I asked further.
"A low, suppressed laugh sounded down to me through the semi-obscurity.
"'The child--h'm--the child----' and instead of completing his sentence, he gave the dogs a kick, which sent them tearing out of the house forthwith.
"'Come,' he then said, 'I will show you the way.'
"We went upstairs, silently, without looking at each other.
"'You have grown a stranger to him!' I thought to myself, and terror arose within me, as if I had lost some long-cherished happiness.
"'Wait a moment,' he said, pointing to one of the nearest doors. 'I should like to say a word to her to prepare her; the excitement, else, might hurt her.'
"Next moment I stood alone in a dark, high-vaulted corridor, at the further end of which the rays of the departing day shone in dark glowing flames, and cast a long streak of light upon the shining flags of the flooring. Undefined sounds, like the singing of a child's voice, floated past my ears, when the draught caught in the arches.
"A low cry of joy, which penetrated to me through the door, made me start up. My blood welled hotly to my heart: I felt as if its rushing must choke me. Then the door opened, Robert's hand groped for me in the darkness. Quite dazed, I allowed myself to be pulled forward, and only recovered myself when I had dropped on my knees at a bedside, burying my face in the pillows, while a moist, hot hand lovingly stroked my head. A feeling of homeliness, soft and soothing, such as I had not known for years, cajoled my senses. I feared to raise my eyes, for I thought it must all be lost to me again if I did.
"Like a blessing from above the hand rested upon my head. Supreme gratitude filled my breast. I seized the hand which trembled in mine and pressed my lips upon it long and passionately.
"'What are you doing there, sister--what are you doing?' I heard her tired, slightly veiled voice.
"I raised myself up. There she lay before me, pale and thin-faced, with dark hollows round her eyes, in which tears were glistening. Like a flake of snow she lay there, so delicate and so white; blue, swollen veins were traceable on her wan neck, and on her forehead, which seemed to shine as with a light from within, there stood beads of perspiration. She was aged and worn since I had last seen her, and it did not seem as if the crisis of the birth alone had acted destructively upon her. But her smile remained the same as of old, that loving, comforting, blessing-dispensing smile, with which she helped every one, even though she herself might be utterly helpless.
"'And now you will not go away again,' she said, looking at me as if she could never gaze her fill; 'you will stay with us--for always. Promise it me--promise it me now at once!'
"I was silent. Happiness had come upon me, burning like a fire from heaven. It tortured me, it hurt me.
"'Do help me to entreat her, Robert.' she began anew.
"I started. I had entirely forgotten him, and now his presence acted upon me like a reproach.
"'Give me time to consider it--till to-morrow.' I said, raising myself up. A dark presentiment awoke within me that here would be no abiding-place for me for long. Such happiness would have been too great for me, unhappy being, whom fate mercilessly drove among strangers.
"I saw that Martha was anxious to spare my feelings.
"'Till to-morrow, then.' she said softly, and squeezed my hand; 'and to-morrow you will have found out how necessary you are to us, and that we should be crazy if we let you go away again; isn't it so, Robert?'
"'Of course--why, of course!' he said, and with that burst into a laugh which sounded to me strangely forced. He evidently did not feel comfortable in the presence of us two. And soon after he took up his cap and showed signs of going off quietly.
"'Won't you show her our child?' whispered Martha, and a smile of unutterable bliss spread over her wasted features.
"'Come.' he said, 'it sleeps in the next room.'
"He preceded me. With difficulty he pushed his huge figure through the half-open door.
"There stood the cradle, lit up by the red rays of the setting sun. From among the pillows there peeped a little copper-coloured head, hardly larger than an apple. The wrinkled eyelids were closed, and in the little mouth was stuck one of the tiny fists, its fingers contracted, as if in a cramp.
"My glance travelled stealthily up from the child to its father. He had folded his hands. Devoutly he looked down upon this little human being. An uncertain smile, half-pleased, half-embarrassed, played about his lips.
"Now, for the first time, I was able to contemplate him calmly. The purple evening rays lay bright upon his face, and brought to light, plainly and distinctly, the furrows and wrinkles which the three last years had graven upon it. Shades of gloomy care rested upon his brow, his eyes had lost their lustre, and round about his mouth a twitching seemed to speak to me of dull submission and impotent defiance.
"Unutterable pity welled up within me. I felt as if I must grasp his hands and say to him, 'Confide in me--I am strong; let me share your trouble.' Then, when he raised his eyes, I was terrified lest he should have noticed my glance, and hastily kneeling down in front of the cradle, I pressed my lips upon the little face, which started as if in pain at my touch.
"When I got up I saw that he had left the room.
"Martha's eyes shone in anxious expectation when she saw me. She wanted to hear her child admired.
"'Isn't it pretty?' she whispered, and stretched out her weak arms towards me.
"And when her mother's heart was satiated with pride, she bade me sit down beside her on the pillows and nestled with her head up to my knee, so that it almost came to lie in my lap.
"'Oh, how cool that is!' she murmured, closed her eyes, and breathed deeply and quietly as if asleep. With my handkerchief I wiped the perspiration from her forehead.
"She nodded gratefully, and said: 'I am just a little exhausted yet, and my limbs feel as if they were broken; but I hope to be able to get up again to-morrow, and look after the household.'
"'For heaven's sake, what are you dreaming of?' I cried, horrified.
"She sighed. 'I must--I must. It does not let me rest.'
"'What does not let you rest?'
"She did not answer, and then suddenly she began to weep bitterly.
"I calmed her, I kissed the tears from her lashes and cheeks, and implored her to pour out her heart to me. 'Are you not happy? Isn't he good to you?'
"'He is as good to me as God's mercy; but I am not happy--I am wretched, sister; so wretched that I cannot describe it to you.'
"'And why, in all the world?'
"'I am afraid!'
"'Of what?'
"'That I--make him unhappy; that I am not the right one for him.'
"A sudden icy coldness ran through me. It seemed to emanate from her body upon mine.
"'You see, you feel it too!' she whispered, and looked up at me with great frightened eyes.
"'You are foolish.' I said, and forced myself to laugh; but the chillness did not leave my limbs. A dark suspicion told me that perhaps she might be right. But now it was for me to comfort her!
"'However could you give way to such silly self-torture?' I cried. 'Does not his behaviour at all times prove to you how wrong you are?'
"'I know, what I know,' she answered, softly; with that obstinacy of endurance which is given as a weapon to the weak. 'And what I am now telling you, does not date from to-day--the fear is years old; I had it in my heart already before I was engaged to him, and I quite well knew at that time why I refused him--for very love!'
"'Martha, Martha!' I cried, reproachfully; 'it seems to me that you concealed a great deal from me.'
"'At that time I did tell you everything,' she replied. 'You only would not believe me; you wanted to make me happy by force, and later why should I say anything? On paper everything sounds so different from what one means; you might even have thought you discovered a reproach against him or even against yourself, and naturally I could not risk such a misunderstanding growing up. My misery already began on the first day when we arrived here. I saw how he and his mother fell out, and a voice within me cried: "You are the cause of it." I saw how he grew sadder and gloomier from day to day, and again and again I said in my heart: "You are the cause of it." At nights I lay awake at his side, and tortured myself with the thought: why are you so dull and so depressing, and why can you do nothing but cling to him weeping, and suffer doubly when you see him suffering? Why have you not learnt to greet him with a song as soon as he comes in, and with a laugh to kiss away the wrinkles from his brow? And more than this. Why are you not proud, and strong, and wise, and why can you not say to him: Take refuge with me, when you are fainthearted--from me you shall derive new strength, and I will take care that you do not stumble. This is how you would have done, sister--no--do not contradict me; often enough I have imagined how you would have stood there with your tall figure, and would have opened out your arms to him so that he might seek shelter within them, like in a harbour where storms do not dare to enter.... But look atme'--and she cast a pitiable glance at her poor, delicate frame, the haggard outlines of which were traceable beneath the coverlet--'would it not sound ridiculous if I were to say anything of the sort? I, who am almost submerged in his arms, so small and weak am I,--I am only here to seek shelter; to give shelter is not in my power.... Do you see; all this I have thought out in the long, dark nights, and have grown more and more despondent. And in the mornings I forced myself to laugh, and tried to pass for a sort of cheerful, happy little bird, for thisrôle, I thought to myself, is the most suitable one for you, and is most likely to please him; but song and laughter stuck in my throat, and I daresay he could see it too, for he smiled pitifully to it all, so that I felt doubly ashamed.'
"She stopped exhausted, and hid her face in my dress, then she continued:
"'And as that would not do, I tried at least to compensate him in other ways. You know that all my life I have toiled and moiled, but never have I worked so hard as in these three years. And when I felt myself growing faint and my knees threatened to give way under me, the thought spurred me on again: "Show that at least you are ofsomegood to him; do not ever let him become conscious of how little he possesses in you.... But of what avail is it all! My efforts are not the least good. Everything goes topsy-turvy all the same, as soon as ever I turn my back. I am constantly in terror lest one day my management should no longer suffice him."'
"Thus the poor creature lamented, and I felt positively frightened at so much misery.
"'Listen, I have a favour to ask of you,' she begged at last, and clutched my hands; 'do try and sound him as to whether he is--is satisfied with me, and then come and tell me.'
"I drew her to me; I lavished loving epithets upon her, and endeavoured to soothe away her fear and trouble. Eagerly she drank in every one of my words; her feverishly glowing eyes hung spellbound upon my lips, and from time to time a feeble sigh escaped her.
"'Oh, if I had always had you near me!' she cried, stroking my hands. But then a fresh idea seemed to make her despondent again. I urged her, but she would not put it into words, until at length it came out with stuttering and stammering.
"'You will do everything a thousand times better than I; you will show him what hemighthave had, and what hehas. Through you he will finally realise what a miserable creature I am.'
"I was alarmed; then I felt plainly: my dream of possessing a home was already dreamed out. How could I remain in this place, when my own sister was consuming herself with jealous anxiety on my account?
"She felt herself that she had pained me; stretching up her thin arms to my neck, she said: 'You must not misunderstand me, Olga. What I feel is not jealousy; I am so little jealous, that I have no more ardent wish than that you two should become united after my death, and----'
"'After your death!' I cried, in horror. 'Martha, you are sinning against yourself!'
"She smiled in mournful resignation.
"'I know that better than you.' she said. 'My vital strength has been broken for a long time. The long waiting in those days already undid me. Now, of course, I thought that with this birth all would be nicely at an end, and that is why I longed so for you, because I wanted first to arrange everything clearly between you two. But, however things may turn out, it won't be long before I have to give in and die, and before then I want to feel sure that I am leaving him and the child in good keeping.'
"I shuddered, and then a sudden lassitude came over me. I felt as if I must throw myself down at the bedside and weep, and weep--weep my very heart out. Then from the next room came the crying of the child, which had woke up and wanted its nurse. I drew a deep breath, and bethought myself of the duty which was imposed upon me.
"'Do you hear, Martha? 'I cried. 'You are ready to despair when Heaven has bestowed on you the greatest blessing that a woman can know? Through your child you will raise yourself up anew; its young life will also bring new strength to yours.'
"Her eyes shone for an instant, then she sank back and smilingly closed her lids. The feeling of motherhood was the only one capable of winging her hope.
"Once more she opened her lips, and murmured something. I bent down to her, and asked: 'What is it, sister?'
"'I should like to be of some use in the world,' she said with a sigh, and with this thought she fell asleep.
"It had grown pitch dark when Robert entered the room. In sudden fright I started up. A feeling seized me as if I must hide away, and flee from him to the ends of the earth: 'He must not find you; he shall not find you!' a voice within me cried. My cheeks were flaming, and a vague fear arose in me lest their tell-tale glow might gleam through the darkness.
"He approached the bed, listened for a while to Martha's quiet breathing, and then said softly: 'Come, Olga! You are tired; eat something, and go to rest, too.'
"I should have liked to remonstrate, for I was afraid of being alone with him; but in order not to wake my sleeping sister, I obeyed silently.
"The dining-room was a vast, whitewashed apartment, packed full of old-fashioned furniture, which kept guard along the walls like crouching giants. Under the hanging-lamp stood a table with two covers laid.
"'I let the household finish their meal first,' said Robert, turning towards me, 'for I did not want to bother you with strange faces.' With that he threw himself heavily into an arm-chair, rested his chin on his hand, and stared into the salt-cellar.
"Why, you are not eating anything!' he said, after a while. I shook my head. I could not for the life of me have swallowed a morsel, though hunger was gnawing at my entrails. The sight of him positively paralysed me.
"Renewed silence.
"'How do you find her?' he asked at length.
"'I do not know,' said I, speaking by main force, 'whether I ought to be pleased or anxious!'
"'Why anxious?' he asked, quickly, and in his eyes there gleamed an indefinite fear.
"'She tortures herself----'
"A look of rapid understanding flew across to me, a look which said: 'Do you also know that already? Then he raised his fist, stretched himself and sighed. His bushy hair had fallen over his forehead. The bitter lines about his mouth grew deeper.
"I was alarmed--alarmed at myself. Did not what I had just said sound like an accusation against Martha; did it not provoke an accusation against her?
"'She loves you much too much.' I replied, biting my lips. I knew I should pain him, and I meant to do so.
"He started and looked at me for a while in open astonishment; then he nodded several times to himself and said, 'You are right with your reproach, she does love me much too much.'
"Then I should already have liked to ask his forgiveness again. Surely he did not deserve my malice! His soul was pure and clear as the sunlight, and it was only within me that there was darkness. I felt as if I must choke with suppressed tears. I saw that I could not contain myself any longer, and rose quickly.